


Proof of Affection

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They observe and study each other with a circumspection that is not devoid of a certain warmth. (Set post-series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof of Affection

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [En preuve d'affection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/977934) by [Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune). 



> Original version written for Bambie-Mag who wanted: Lincoln and Sara (gen or het), Sara being sad, a reference to the past but not to explain Sara’s sadness, and the sentence “You know Michael, huh?”

They observe, size up and study each other with a circumspection that is not devoid of a certain warmth. Here, now, they don’t have to stick so thoroughly to their parts anymore. Sara doesn’t need to keep a professional distance like she used to; she has no reason to actually. Lincoln doesn’t need to put up an impenetrable façade. If sometimes he does it nonetheless – it’s just the way he is – it doesn’t change the fact that the façade breaks and cracks a bit. Taking him off guard, Sara has sidled underneath it and he started to care about her. At first it was for Michael and LJ’s sake, because she’s so important to them. Then later, it was for herself. He started to care, really care. Worry about her. Worry _for_ her sometimes.

Like when she’s been blanketed with this sadness for a couple of days. He wants to... he’s not sure, actually. Maybe shake her and remind her she went through worse things, terrible things. Except that, right when he’s about to, he realizes that he doesn’t know what the matter is. Ask her will do no good, she won’t answer him. She’s hardheaded; between Mike and him, he has a few points of comparison, he speaks from experience.

Lost in her thoughts, her face gloomy, she barely looks at him when she opens the car door and slides into the front seat next to him. She takes a few seconds, once inside, to throw a look over her shoulder, notice that they’re alone in there, and asks, “Shouldn’t Michael meet with us?”

“You know Michael, huh? He called me to say that he’s working on something. He’ll join us later.”

There are apologies in his voice. He can’t help wonder if things have changed so that he has to apologize on behalf of his brother. Not that it seems really necessary, though: Sara merely shrugs and nods at the jammed street in front of them.

“Let’s go then.”

He clutches the wheel, exasperation mingling with helplessness. He’s not the kind of guy who likes to tiptoe around the bush. Nor the kind of guy who likes to wallow in sappy displays, and he includes in those the fact to ask with solicitude, as Michael or even LJ would, _Are you sure everything is okay, Sara?_

For lack of anything better, he snakes an arm around her shoulders and grumbles, “It’s going to be all right”, squishing her against him. A bit too briskly and harshly, hard enough for her nose to smash in his neck. She lets out a small protest, yet doesn’t try to free herself. Sure, for a couple of seconds, she remains a bit wooden, whether of embarrassment or instinctive resistance, but then she slackens in his embrace. He can feel her muscles relax against his arm and, for all he knows, it may very well be the first time in a few days. They stay like that for a while, still and quiet, in the car parked on the side of the street, until she mumbles something in his neck.

“Huh?” he asks, bending his head to the side so he can hear her.

“Your stubble itches, you’re choking me, and you reek of cigarette smoke.”

Her expression is still kind of dark, kind of moody, but she has straightened up, raised her chin, her eyes are once again lit with that fighting spirit. And – given what she’s just said – he may bear the brunt of it very soon. Nine out of ten chances that she throws him a curve ball about the upsides of shaving or the fact that he didn’t make it through the electric chair and all that follows to die because of smoking.

Before she can say anything, he leans into her and plants a loud kiss on her mouth. Partly to make her shut up, thinking that with a stroke of luck, it will shock her into a dazed silence until they reach their destination. And partly because he appreciates, really appreciates, the underlying thoughtfulness of her usual snarky remarks.

The kiss makes a smacking, ringing noise in the car. Lincoln won’t linger on how pleasant – not friendly pleasant, just... pleasant – the contact was, or on the fact that despite her stunned, wide opened eyes, Sara doesn’t protest. Furrowing her brow, she presses her lips together and brushes her fingers on her chin.

“For your next birthday, I’m offering you a shaving kit.”

Yeah. So much for silencing her about that.

They observe, size up and study each other with a circumspection that is not devoid of a certain warmth; he will admit that their methods and displays of affection could sometimes be more polished.

Or maybe not.

-End-


End file.
